


Edge Work

by glim



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Endearments, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Ice Skating, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: He could draw this out all day.





	

Saturday mornings are Viktor's favorite. 

First, he wakes up early to take Makkachin and little Petrushka for a run when the morning sky is a pearly grey. The puppy jumps and licks Makkachin at first, excited to go out with his new best friend, and Makkachin herds the puppy around corners and nudges him to sit before Viktor needs to remind them. 

They walk themselves, really, and Viktor can walk behind with his hands in his pockets as they make their way home. They're just at the very end of winter before spring in St. Petersburg starts, the snowmelt finally arriving and longer days starting to creep up on them. 

When they arrive home, Viktor lets the dogs play for a few more minutes. The air is raw and damp, still cold, but without the sharpness of winter. He's looking forward to going inside and making coffee, and to getting back in bed with his husband. 

"You smell like the outside," Yuuri mumbles, pressing his warm face into the crook of Viktor's neck. He protests when Viktor tangles their feet together, but tugs Viktor in closer after the first chilly shock wears off.

"I took the puppies out for a run. They're very excited to see the snow starting to melt." Viktor rubs his hand up and down Yuuri's back and buries his own face in Yuuri's hair. 

They're still and close and quiet for long enough that Viktor suspects Yuuri's fallen asleep on him. 

"So cute when you do that," he says into Yuuri's hair and nuzzles. 

"Mmn? No," Yuuri says, though Viktor can tell it's a reflex, not a real reply. "Wait. What?" 

"Nothing, love." Viktor kisses the top of Yuuri's head. The chill from walking outside and then around their flat barefoot fades quickly, and Viktor rubs his feet against Yuuri's when he starts to stir. 

His whole body is a press of warmth against Viktor's but the touch of his lips against Viktor's neck is ticklishly light enough to make Viktor shiver. He kisses the rise of his collarbone and the column of his neck, his breath a warm tickle against Viktor's skin, too. 

Yuuri murmurs sleepily into Viktor's neck something about 'morning' and 'coffee' and 'nice' and Viktor cannot help but laugh. 

"Do you want to get up or do you want to stay in bed? Your choice this morning." It's Yuuri's choice every Saturday morning, and Viktor savors this moment every weekend. 

Yuuri hums into another kiss and his hand finds the curve of Viktor's hip. He thumbs into the dip and rise of the bone, stroking through Viktor's sweatpants, and draws Viktor in a little closer. 

A hazy memory of lazy Saturday morning handjobs drifts through Viktor's mind and he makes a sound of content. He could do this all morning, if Yuuri wants, touching and kissing and gathering in the warmth of their bodies until he's too desperate for more. Yuuri gives another little hum, almost of approval, and leans away and down to kiss the skin at the vee-neck in Viktor's shirt. 

"Coffee?" he asks when he looks up. 

Viktor nods. When he shifts to reach for the mug on the bedside table, Yuuri moves with him, pulling them both to sit against the pillows. 

Yuuri takes a few sips, a blissful smile spreading over his face, and leans his head against Viktor's shoulder. He was up later than Viktor last night, and he looks sleep-tousled this morning. 

Viktor kisses his hair and his forehead. "Hmm?" he asks when Yuuri shrugs, and he could keep on kissing Yuuri and sharing a coffee cup with him all morning. The low hum of caffeine-buzz and arousal settles below Viktor's skin. 

He could draw this out all day. Syrup-slow and Saturday morning lazy, kissing Yuuri's hair and nuzzling into his skin, murmuring fond nonsense until he arches into Viktor. Or Yuuri, touching him, rubbing his thumb into the hollow of Viktor's hipbone again and teasing him with too-close touches that never come quite close enough until Viktor breaks beneath him. 

Viktor never knew how much he wanted this, and now it's all he wants: Saturday mornings in bed, arousal warm beneath his skin, and Yuuri, only Yuuri, bringing him to brink of desire and then back again, breathless. 

"My Yuuri..." He kisses the taste of coffee and cream from Yuuri's mouth, catching it on his own tongue, and pulls a sigh from Yuuri when he kisses his lower lip. 

Yuuri passes the mug back to Viktor and leans up to return the kisses. His nose brushes over Viktor's and he draws back, smiling. "I want to go ice skating." 

* * *

Something tells Viktor his ought to be disappointed. He ought to pout at Yuuri, say they ought to stay home, stay in bed, make good on the tacit promises left between their morning kisses. 

Maybe if he were a different person, or if Yuuri were different, or if he weren't well aware of what might await him when they returned home that afternoon. Maybe then, he might. 

But when he kneels to lace up Yuuri's skates, and catches the smile at the corners of Yuuri's mouth as he glances down and aside, Viktor feels the muted hum of arousal buzz along his senses again. He skims one fingertip along the line of the blade guard before setting Yuuri's foot down with care. 

"I'll meet you on the ice." Viktor leans back and offers Yuuri a hand to help him stand after he does so himself. 

In his skates, Yuuri's tall enough that he can stand chest to chest with Viktor, and his lips brush Viktor's when he leans in closer. It's barely a kiss, god, it's barely a touch, and yet it leaves Viktor bereft when Yuuri leans away. 

He touches his lips once Yuuri's gone, as if he could seal the touch there, at the threshold of his breath, and basks in the sensation for a long moment. 

On the ice, Viktor matches his routine to the one Yuuri's doing. He skates through Yuuri's latest short program with him, changing up some of the jumps, and skating around Yuuri a few times. 

"Show off!" Yuuri shouts. 

Viktor breaks with a flourish beside Yuuri. He's out of breath and laughing, and he nods. "For you. I don't need to show off for anyone else." 

Yuuri shakes his head and reaches for Viktor's hand. When he has it in his own, he kisses the center of Viktor's palm, tip of his tongue darting out for a flicker of a second. "My turn," he says. 

He skates a circle around Viktor, and then away from Viktor, leaving him for the opposite side of the rink. 

Viktor's not sure what he expects. Yuuri's not prone to demonstrative gestures of affection, especially in public. And though the rink is empty save the two of them, a few other serious skaters, and the rink's employees, this is public enough to make Viktor wonder. 

He thinks, perhaps, a minute later, he needn't have wondered. Yuuri skims along the ice, his body a slim, strong line in his black clothes, skates, and fingerless gloves. He skates the way he did when Viktor first say him, music in his limbs, and the blades of his skate light upon the ice. 

There is, Viktor knows, a practiced careless grace about him, so that there is artifice even in his artlessness. 

Unlike Viktor, he leaves out all his jumps, and instead focuses on the intricate footwork he's incorporated into his program. 

The rest of the skaters drift to the outside of the rink, as if they, too, know that Yuuri's performance is for Viktor. 

Just for Viktor, though he's used to skating for an audience.

And Viktor is captivated, not only by the look of it, but also by the sound. The sharpness of blades against the ice, knife-sharp and quick, the scroll of meticulous edge work. 

The sound cuts Viktor to the quick, his reaction sudden and spontaneous. He hand rests on his heart, where the steady beat quickens. And there, yes, below his skin, the warm buzz of arousal picks up again, and spikes when he hears the elegant scrape of Yuuri's skate along the ice as his routine winds into a spin. 

Viktor meets Yuuri on the ice when he finishes amidst a smattering of applause from their fellow skaters. Yuuri blushes, but gives their friends a grateful wave, and Viktor feels a surge of such strong affection that he cannot stop himself from grasping Yuuri's hand in his own. 

"Well?" Yuuri says, his breath short. "How was it?"

"Stunning. Completely stunning." 

* * *

Viktor can't stop thinking about it. 

"What?" Yuuri asks as they stand in line at the cafe, waiting to order their coffee and sandwiches.

"What?" Viktor repeats and laughs when Yuuri rolls his eyes. 

"What are you thinking about?" Yuuri glances at Viktor, knowingly, and then at the menu board. "You've been quiet since we left the rink." 

Viktor cannot say that he is thinking of the scrawl of metal on ice, and that the memory of that sound and of the sight of Yuuri's body, taut above the ice, still casts desire right through him. He wants to say that Yuuri knows what what he's thinking about, he knows Viktor too well to ignore the warmth that lingers at the tips of Viktor's fingers and that makes Viktor want to touch and touch Yuuri so badly.

The longer Viktor stays quiet, the more the smile on Yuuri's face fades from curious to embarrassed. He flushes pink, eyelashes a dark brush against his cheeks, when he realizes why Viktor is staring at and thinking about him. 

Viktor brushes the tips of his fingers over Yuuri's, touching him, lightly, and then tangling their fingers together. 

"You were so brilliant today. I loved watching you." 

"Was I? All footwork, though." Yuuri tugs Viktor's hand closer into his hand brushes his thumb over Viktor's palm. "Let me pay today," he says, and then, stroking Viktor's palm again, "Thank you." 

"My pleasure. Alright, you're taking your husband out for lunch today? I like when you do that." 

Yuuri's grip tightens on Viktor's hand, sudden and possessive, and he tugs Viktor a step closer. "I know you do, Vitya." He looks up, sideways, almost shy, but there's something else there, too. Something in his eyes that catches the light a little strongly to be shyness. 

Fetching, Viktor thinks, even after two years. He keeps his fingers intertwined with Yuuri's while they order and wait to pay, then slides his arm around Yuuri's waist as Yuuri his card over to the barista. 

He's hardly touching Yuuri even then, his arm a light circle at his waist, their coats and clothes keeping the distance between them. Still, he likes the way Yuuri stands possessively close, the way he leads Viktor to a table, the way he skims his knuckles over Viktor's jawline before he sits down next to Viktor. 

"Did you want to go anywhere else before we head home?" Yuuri asks. He adds milk to his coffee, then watches Viktor put sugar and milk to his tea.

"I don't think so? It's chilly," he says, as if that makes a difference after they've lasted through another Russian winter. 

Compared to the weather a few months ago, it's hardly cold, and all the old snow is fading to meltwater. Viktor shivers anyway, and slips his feet between Yuuri's under the table. The motion reminds him of their time in bed that morning, and the warmth at his fingertips spreads to that inimitable place at the center of his chest.

Viktor takes a drink from his tea, both hands wrapped around the cup. "I want to go home. I want to be home, with you." 

"Okay." Yuuri touches the end of his shoe against Viktor's ankle. "Just home, then? We don't need groceries? You're cooking dinner tonight," he reminds Viktor. 

"We have rice? And chicken? With vegetables." 

"Mm. Stir-fry?" Yuuri asks. "Please? You do it better." 

He looks pleased at the idea, so Viktor nods. He's pretty sure it's not really his turn to cook, but Yuuri's specialty seems to be salad and whatever high protein food they have in the house, so it's almost always easier for Viktor to cook most nights of the week. He'd rather cook than clean the kitchen, anyway.

He watches the end of Yuuri's tongue flick over his mug, then feels a blush rise up on his own cheeks. He tries to disguise it with a brief cough and hides his face behind his own mug, but Yuuri frowns at him. 

Ah. _Caught._ Viktor glances away, thinks of the thin blade cutting the ice, thinks of his husband, a dark line cutting across the far side of the ice rink, thinks of the perfect curve of his eyelashes, the softness at the corner of his mouth when Viktor kisses him.

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to find out another way," Yuuri murmurs, in the same tone of voice he told Viktor it was his night to cook dinner. 

Between the nonchalance and the hidden promise behind it, Viktor nearly feels himself flush warm again. He tamps down the feeling, though, and concentrates on his lunch. 

"Home, then, after we finish," Viktor says. 

How Yuuri can make benign, aimless conversation after that is a mystery to Viktor. He talks about the weather and the upcoming exhibition skating shows they're going to do together in Russia, and then about taking the puppy to the vet and asking about special dog food. 

Which is all fine and good; Viktor's just as fond of their home life and the myriad details that comprise it as Yuuri is. More so, probably, when it comes down to it. 

But all he can think of now is Yuuri, teasing desire from him slowly and without speaking, touching him in a million small ways, and each way a blade that merely skims the surface of Viktor's need. His hands, and his lips, and the tickle of his breath over Viktor's skin. 

Viktor lets out a sigh when Yuuri finally finishes his lunch, and makes a move to take Yuuri's hand into his own. 

"Take me home," Viktor says, and, then, "Please?"

* * *

"You're so good to me," Viktor says, then rethinks his words. "You're so good _for_ me." 

Yuuri smiles down at him, traces one finger from Viktor's lips to the center of his chest, and leans down to kiss him. He has Viktor sprawled on top of the blankets and pillows, both of them naked and flushed warm with want, but he still smiles shyly at Viktor's words. 

"You know I love you," Yuuri says. "But I like showing you. I love being good to you." 

Viktor smiles and closes his eyes so he can focus on the sound of Yuuri's voice and the light touch of his fingers on Viktor's chest. He strokes the center until Viktor sighs, and skims his palm over his chest, then the pad of his thumb over one nipple. 

Another sigh, and Viktor tries to nudge closer to Yuuri. Yuuri nudges him back, a laugh catching quiet and deep at the back of his throat. 

"I'll be good to you, Viktor. I'll be so good to you." He his thumb in a circle around Viktor's nipple again, and again, until it makes Viktor shudder and open his eyes. "There... that's ... it that good?"

"That's so good," Viktor says. Yuuri looks about ready to flush with embarrassment--he knows Viktor likes talking during sex, but it makes him shy, so endearingly shy, and Viktor reaches up to stroke his cheek. "When you touch me... when you keep touching me, and you bring me so close," he adds. 

Because Viktor knows what Yuuri likes, too, and he knows that given the chance, his dear, sweet husband would bring him to the shattering brink of orgasm a half-dozen times over in one afternoon. 

He expects a sound of surprise from Yuuri but what he gets is a breathy 'yes' and the sudden absence as Yuuri moves away from him. 

Viktor cannot help but whimper in protest at the loss; he reaches for Yuuri's hand to draw it back to his chest, and gets rewarded with a mere tap of fingers against his ribcage. Yuuri ladders his fingers over Viktor's skin, as if he's counting each small space one at a time. 

"How long," he asks Viktor, "how long should I keep touching you?" 

"You--" Viktor starts to answer, then gasps when Yuuri's fingers trace a steady path from his ribcage to the angle of his hip and stroke gently. 

"I almost did this in bed with you this morning, but I wanted you to wait a little longer," he continues, and his thumb finds the hollow of Viktor's hip again. This time it's skin against skin, and Yuuri finds the sensitive spot at the crease of Viktor's thigh before Viktor has a chance to register what Yuuri's saying. 

"This morning?" Viktor asks. He lets his legs splay open Yuuri gives him a little nudge, but the touch doesn't get more intense, the light stroke of a thumb at the inside of his thigh. 

"This morning, and then... did you enjoy watching me on the ice? Edge work," he says, and desire flushes over his face and chest, his pupils already wide with arousal. "I think you did." 

The barest scrape of a fingernail against his skin reminds Viktor of the sound of blades etching into the ice. His hips arch off the mattress, trying to arch closer to Yuuri, to get Yuuri to touch him more. 

He finally takes pity of Viktor and starts palming him, bringing him to full hardness as he leans in closer to kiss Viktor on the lips, sloppy sidewise kisses that leave Viktor panting and needy. 

Yuuri's body curves against Viktor's side on the bed, his own arousal a press against Viktor's thigh. He strokes Viktor a few more times, then, when a shudder starts to build deep inside him, Yuuri draws his hand away. 

"No!" Viktor gasps, sharp and the word almost hurts to say. He tenses, so close, so very close, and almost cries when Yuuri leans in to kiss him again. 

"Not yet..." 

He won't say it, he's going shy on Viktor again, but Viktor knows without Yuuri saying it that he has to wait. He has to be good and wait, and Yuuri will let him come when they're both ready. 

When his breathing calms, Yuuri rests his palm against Viktor's cheek to turn his head so they face each other. He kisses Viktor gently on the lips, and then again, and then leans up to kiss him on the forehead. 

For a while, all they do is kiss. Gentle and slow, then more deeply, and Yuuri guides Viktor into each one and keeps Viktor as close to him as he can.

He keeps Viktor close to the point of coming, too, fumbling a hand between to stroke until they're both harder, more desperate. But the long, low, lazy warmth of the morning seems to settle around them again, and every time Viktor can feel himself start to come close to the edge, he lets Yuuri lead him back. 

The touch of his mouth is too much. Nipping kisses that start at the point of his Viktor's shoulder and leave tiny marks over his chest and stomach; softer, wetter kisses to the crease of his thigh, and then one that flutters over the tip of his dick. 

"Not yet, Vitenka," Yuuri murmurs, fond and teasing, while he kisses the flat of Viktor's stomach. 

Viktor's not even sure anymore what makes him cry out, the soft kiss or the term of endearment or the fact that nobody has ever made him feel this way before, this needy and loved and wanting all at the same time, that even when his hands twist in the sheets and Yuuri needs to anchor him with a palm to his hip, he is aware of an ineffable sweetness between them. 

A sweetness that sharpens when Viktor sees how much Yuuri enjoys this, how damp and red his lips are, how the gold of his ring glints in the afternoon sun, how he keeps his hand on Viktor's hip, possessive. 

"No--oh, only... I only want..." Yuuri's words come out in a stuttering spill, and he tries to push Viktor away when he arches up closer. "I want you to come with me..." 

He has one hand on himself, the other on Viktor's hip, and his mouth hovering so close to Viktor that Viktor can feel every word, every gasped sigh, every coaxing gasp. 

This time, Yuuri doesn't pull Viktor back from the edge, but keeps him there, his desire knife-sharp and keen. He slides up the length of Viktor's body and they are close again, warm and close. 

"Touch me, please?" Yuuri says, and then, when Viktor does, he says: "Now." 

* * * 

All Viktor knows for a long time after the last murmured word is wild beat of his own heart and the spiraling relief of being able to finally, finally come. He has a faint idea of shouting and swearing at some point, and there's the slick of tears on his face when he feels himself drift back to awareness. 

It takes him a moment to realize they're not his tears, however. Viktor shifts, fumbles for a blanket to pull over himself and Yuuri, and brushes the tear-damp trails from Yuuri's cheek. 

"You've needed that for a long time," he murmurs. When Yuuri doesn't answer, he starts pressing kisses all over Yuuri's face, over his cheeks and forehead and lips. "My only love," he adds, in a smaller, lower voice. 

Yuuri gives a brief nod, and nearly kisses the term of endearment from Viktor's mouth. "Maybe... but I wanted it to last a long time, too."


End file.
